Callum and Shanno's cautionary tour of Gillingham, and other romantic locations travel blog


English kebabs are the most perfect thing you will ever experience, below I have detailed the correct etticate and precautions to observe in dot points, to make it easier to understand for the slow and drunk. Be warned that skipping or modifying any step will result in you having you gall bladder slowly removed by an angered Marmot.

* Firstly, you must drink many beers - a English kabab is a serious undertaking, and not taking this first precaution may result in unprintable injury and woe.

*When walking requires concentration, you know that you are now aptly prepared and that it is time to blow off the bevvy of fine women hand feeding you grapes and beer, and venture into the kebab place.

*Kebab places are many faceted religious temples with many hidden meanings and traditions, it is very easy to go wrong and accidentally gravely offend the gods, so the next few steps are important.

*Wait behind the fat smeared glass counter until called forth by the Kebab Monk, he may offer you other food-stuffs, such as pizza or a burger. Do not be fooled as this is heinous trickery.

*Order a Doner Kebab, he will ask you if you want salad, say yes. If the salad does not contain any limp looking purple cabbage, you have been sold an impostor. Leave immediately least your soul dissolve.

*He may also offer you a choice of meats. There is no choice; only lamb may enter the pita of joy.

*You will be asked what sauce you would like, some half blooded madmen enjoy garlic sauce. This is deeply wrong on many levels. You will order chilli sauce, and only chilli sauce.

*Open receiving your kabab, you may leave the temple, ensuring you hand over the required donation to the priest. You must now return home; your night fulfilled. As you stumble home, no matter how treacherous the conditions, know that the revitalising kebaby power is infusing itself though your limbs. You Are God.

In other news we're back in Gillingham, it's 10.30am and I'm very gently hungover. Snow has blurred the landscape into a further array of panic, and a guy from the kebab shop thinks I'm gay; apparently the term 'is it a bit of a cockfest?' has a whole different set of connotations in the mirror world. Planning on going somewhere today, not sure of Shannons still alive yet though, which may curtail things most unfortunately. Your not getting any photos today, not because I can't - this computer is quite capable. I simply can't be bothered. I'm also out of tea.

Cyas in the Soup.

Callum and Shannon

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